Don’t get me wrong, if you don’t know my name it’s okay to not call me anything. You can call me pal, that’s okay, but not with that tone.

You know that tone. It’s the one that implies a proximity that isn’t there, a friendship that’s non-existent, basically, it’s a smokescreen to rush through an agenda.

It’s used to create a bond. But then so’s crazy glue and I’ve seen some terrible things that shit can do.

When dealing with someone like this it’s best to get to the bottom of their desire (probably something you can do but not at the price, position, color, or creed they’re interested in) as quickly as possible. The trouble with that is they won’t help.

Another thing about this type of person is they are unfailingly loud. I will admit that there is a place to be unfailingly loud. The problem is there’s also a time and place try to two bank your caddy into your neighbors front yard (turns out that time is 2:31AM on November 27 and the place is Florida. Seriously, what was Cheetah, I mean, Tiger Woods doing? Was he having a psychotic breakdown and thought he was trying to putt through the windmill at a minigolf course?).

While I am holding the phone three inches from my ear I attempt to answer this guys question: price. The problem is there are many, as we say in the business, price points.

He tells me he’s not interested in anything but the price. Ah, a shrewd negotiator.

I tell him the lowest and highest prices we have on the item he desires. I also state that there are price points in between.

What I receive back is his opinion. Let me check my notes, I wouldn’t want to quote him incorrectly.

“You are a fucking idiot if you think I’m paying that. That’s fucking retarded. Are you right in the head with prices like that?”

I begin to state that, as of my last check-up, I was certified right in the head. The problem is, for whatever reason, and I’m not saying it was due to the fact he was not only speaking at the same time he was doing it loud enough to drown out the news helicopters hovering over the building due to a highway blocking accident, he did not hear the results of my check-up.

“HELLO?” He begins to bark. “HELLO!?!?!” He screams. “HELLO MOTHERFUCKER!?!?” He bellows. “THIS ASSHOLE HUNG UP ON ME.”

The fact I am attempting to tell him the motherfucker, oh, and asshole, in question is still on the line is lost as he hangs up.

Then calls back.

I consider not answering the phone but, gee, I am here to help people. I know, I’m such a softy.

“Why the fuck did you hang up on me?”

“I didn’t.”

“You fucking so did.” That’s what he said so don’t go all grammar guard on me.

“If that is true, how could I have known you screamed hello three times before calling me a motherfucker then an asshole?”

“I didn’t fucking say nothing like that.”

“I’ll give you that. But only because, if I remain on the phone with you, I’d feel I was cutting into your scheduled wife beating time.”

Ahhh, silence.

“Now that I’ve got your attention,” I press on. “I’d like to ask you why you called back? I mean, you’ve already said out price is fucking retarded and there is something wrong with my head if I thought you’d pay prices like that.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking to me like this. Who’s your boss?”

“Jesus.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yep. Assholes for Jesus. Wanna join?”

“How do you stay in business treating customers like this.”

“You’re not a customer. You’re some random asshole who slipped from the primordial ooze who learned to grunt into a telephone.”